The Prodigal Cat and his Consequential Companion

As I alluded to in an earlier post, Scamper went missing this fall.

I do not exaggerate when I say that this is was a tragedy in my life.

Scamp had been my constant companion since moving back to Millbrook and starting my job at my school.  The first night I moved into my close-to-campus-housing and found myself locked out after late night dorm duty, I panicked because, "My kitten's in there!"  (Don't worry, I eventually found the spare key with the help of the Night Watchman and was reunited).

Growing up from kittenhood as the only other living thing in my home, Scamp made the most of being the center of my attention.  He insisted on drinking only from a running faucet, would meow insistently to be let out at whatever time suited him, and then to be let back in, hopefully as late as possible.

Then he would lay on my head.

Out in the woods where we were the first 2 years, he spent much of his time outside, coming back with an array of baby woodland creatures to leave half-eaten on the doorstep.  Occasionally during good weather he would spend more than a single night outside, and I initially would obsess about him being devoured by coyotes, but eventually came to trust that he had developed savvy enough wilderness skills to escape from such a situation.

Log Cabin in the snow

One rainy day Scamp had been outside for longer than his usual night-or-two and I ventured out to to try to find him.  I checked in the old chicken coop where he sometimes took shelter, but to no avail.  I checked the big garage/barn area and finally heard the meow I was looking for.  "Scamper?" I'd call, and hear his pathetic mewling in response.  But I couldn't find him.  It sounded like he was IN the wall.  I would go inside the building, locate the sounds, see nothing.  I would go outside the building to the woodpile area and do the same, with the same results.  This went on for about half an hour before I started to panic.  He was trapped somewhere and I couldn't find him, never mind rescue him.  He had been out for a few days and had to be hungry.  I filled my role as the cat-crazy girlfriend and called the guy I was seeing, who worked not far away, hoping he could come over and help.  He was sympathetic, but he was working. He was sure it would work out.  I didn't want to exaggerate the cat-craziness, so I turned to those who were less likely to judge: my parents.  I explained my predicament tearfully.  MY CAT WAS SCARED AND TRAPPED AND I DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO HELP HIM!!  They came right over.

In their eternal wisdom they quickly deduced that the Scamp sounds were coming from below, rather from above in the roof region I thought it did.  So we started excavating at the woodpile, and lo and behold, finally reached cat-level.  Scamper was so happy, and didn't seem nearly as apologetic as he should. He resumed his position as head-of-household--running to the door in greeting when I came home, coming and responding when called.

This September, after spending the summer at my parents' while I was at the ranch, we relocated to on-campus-housing.  I had been thinking about how this move would affect Scamp and his wilderness-cat ways.  The apartment is right next to a parking lot, between the dining hall and maintenance area, not far from the dumpsters and the old paddocks and wooded area leading to the upper athletic fields.  The latter area would be great for Scamp, the others--not so much.  He would need to navigate through the traffic and deliveries to find the apartment door, hidden in the corner of the L-shaped building.  I bought him a collar and looked into getting an attached name tag, so that if he were wandering it would be easy to know who he was.

Once we moved in and had open windows in the late summer weather, I thought maybe we could work out a cat-entrance from the window to the roofs, down to ground level.  There would be less navigating that way.

Scamp's new (scary!) home

After a week or so in the new digs, during which time he spent much time under the couch and cowering at the sounds of delivery trucks and voices outside, Scamp wandered to the windows and cautiously went outside.  I followed him the first few times, showing him the woodsy area and how to get back to the door.  The first few times he went out and stayed out alone he was gone for two nights, and I would bemoan all the things that could be happening to him out there and my friends would tell me to chill, he's a cat, he'll be fine.  They were fight, and each time after two nights I would go out to the trees and call him and he would come running as he does.

Then I had to leave for two nights for a retreat with the kids.  Scamp had already been out his allotted two nights and I looked worriedly for him in the rain (always seems to be raining in these moments, doesn't it?) before I left.  I told all my neighbors to keep an eye out for him for me, but when I came back, he was still out there.

And there he remained for two months.

I went out every night to try to find him, vacillating between increasing frustrating and desperation.  I snuck around my former log cabin residence on the other side of campus, hunting for him and left a note for the current tenant to let me know if the cutest orange cat showed up.  After about two weeks I sent an all-school email, attaching a picture and asking everyone to be on the lookout for him (yes, this did greatly improve my popularity among both students and faculty).

There was now no hiding that this was my true identity

The campus was very concerned, and every day I would respond forlornly to their questions of news.  A few times he was spotted.  Faculty who lived along the dirt road of my old house in the woods saw him in the  in that area.  I was so relieved he was out there, but also felt so helpless that I couldn't get him.  I left food near their houses and would comb through the woods after practice calling my kitty call.

One night after dark I was driving by and saw a kitty shape crossing the road.  Definitely looked like it could be Scamp.  I stopped, dug out a flashlight and went into the woods after where I saw it disappear.  I flashed on reflecting eyes, then it was gone.  I went home, feeling like I had been so close.  I couldn't stand it, and actually went back out in the pitch black to look again where I had been sure he had been, but nothing.

My faithful parents were still part of this saga--at times unknown to me, my father would come to campus, in the early morning or afternoon, and walk around and call his kitty call.  He would go to the log cabin and just sit beside that garage where Scamp had once become trapped, waiting for a sign of him.  Knowing he was out there was driving us all crazy.

I sent out another email to the staff, asking if anyone had a Havahart trap that I could borrow.  If I couldn't get him to come to me, maybe I could catch him.  Others warned me that I would likely catch a skunk or raccoon instead, so I was hesitant.  It seemed like an unrealistic option, desperate though I was.

Unlike this guy, I would not be so happy to find this in my trap.

One afternoon, after about a month of having been missing,   I was putting up "Missing Cat" flyers after practice and saw dad's truck along the dirt road.  He was going to walk along, and I decided to go back up to log cabin.  I checked around the garage as usual and then went through the thorn bushes to the dilapidated chicken coop.  I poked my head around to peek in and SCAMP WAS THERE.  He was laying ona roosting nook along the wall, and when I startled him he panicked, running madly from wall to wall, jumping up on the screened windows and clinging there, hissing.  I couldn't believe I had finally found him.  I cautiously approached him, trying to soothe him and plucked him from the wall, where he was puffed and panicky, and held him, burying my face in his neck.  I couldn't believe I had him.  He was obviously so shifty, I wasn't sure how I would keep him on the trek back to the apartment.  I closed the door behind me and put him on the ground so that I could take off my sweatshirt to wrap him in and keep a good grip for the walk back.  He paced the floor nervously.  Too late, I saw him go for a hole in the floor.  Before I could realize what he was doing, he was wriggling through it to the outside.  I ran to try to block him, crashing through the rotten floor and further startling him, as he raced off, ricocheting off the remnants of chicken wire before he finally found a place to make an escape.

I had had him.  He was in my arms.  And he was so terrified.  He was living out there, so terrified.  Constantly feeling like prey.  And he hadn't understood.  And he was gone again.

I ran along the dirt road, looking for dad.  I breathlessly told him what had happened.  I was going to go back for the carrier and food, and maybe we could find him and keep him.

Although we knew he had to be close--I had just seen him after all--we couldn't find him again.  We went back for the Havahart trap and set it in the coop, leaving an old tee shirt of mine and a towel draped over it.

I couldn't stop crying.  I knew he was definitely out there, and definitely terrified, and again I felt helpless to do anything about it.

I checked the trap a few times again that night, and every day thereafter for two weeks.  Every time I approached the coop I so hopefully strained to see the contents of the trap, and every time it was empty and I felt defeated.  I couldn't face doing it any more and eventually took it down.  I still would wander up to it while out on walks, and once I heard scrabbling as I neared--but only to find a raccoon staring up at me curiously from its feast of cat food.  I couldn't face the disappointment any more.  Dad set the trap up again as autumn was drawing to a close, and although I couldn't bring myself to remove the litterbox and bowl of food from my apartment, I knew he wasn't coming back.

It felt lonely being the only thing with a heartbeat in my home, after having grown up always surrounded by animals and family.  I couldn't imagine getting another cat, although I browsed unethusiastically on Petfinder and Craigslists for pets that needed homes.  Since cats were still too sensitive a subject, I looked at dogs, although I didn't really think I had the time to devote to dog care.

But I kept coming back to this guy's profile.

He had a Special Care heart symbol next to his name, which said "Nemo--3.5 legs."

Described as a mixed breed (possibly of a miniature pinscher variety) from Puerto Rico, he had a tiny misshapen leg and foot but was otherwise very healthy and friendly and was just in the town next door.

I filled out an adoption application, just for the hell of it.  Then talked to his foster mom and made an appointment to see him, just for the hell of it.

Kathleen was visiting for a weekend Bitterroot Ranch reunion, and we were on our way to my JV Field Hockey team's final game of the season.  Just as we were nearing the school, dad called on my cell phone.  This had never before happened.  "Guess who I found?" he asked.

"Scamper??!!  No way."  Indeed.  His diligent persistence with the Havahart trap had paid off, and Scamp was currently waiting in my apartment.  Mind=blown.

He was skinny and a bit skittish, but thrilled to be home.  He still had his collar and flea collar, although they didn't smell too good.  He meowed constantly and followed me around, seeking as much contact as possible.

Someone lost his table manners

After two months, Scamp was back.

Kathleen and Scamp on his first night back

Kathleen may not have understood when I said I was so excited to send out another, and final, all school email to announce the return of the cat, but the reasons why became clear when throughout the evening as the movie we were watching was constantly interrupted by email dings, announcing another arrival of congratulations on the amazing recovery.  Everyone was surprised, and impressed by both Scamp's toughness and dad's patient diligence.

Since I already had an appointment to see the puppy Nemo, I thought I should still at least go, it seemed like it would be rude to the foster mom, with whom I had had long conversations.

The dog was cute.  Mom came with me, and was convinced.  I was unsure about further traumatizing Scamper after only a few weeks back at home, and also concerned about being able to leave for a night or two when I wanted, and certainly for my summer sojourn to Wyoming.

But I wanted him.

When I first brought him home, I put Scamp in a crate so that he wouldn't bolt and the dog wouldn't start their relationship thinking he was prey.  But Scamp didn't care at all.  He laid unperturbed in the crate, and later outside of the crate while Nemo sniffed around.  They both seemed interested in each other, but not in fear or like they wanted to eat each other.

Shortly after their first meeting

When people saw me with Nemo on campus many observed, "That is not a cat."  And I would respond, "No, but it's the cat's consequence for abandoning me for two months."  I joked about needed something that would not leave my sight, and that is what precisely what I got.  Nemo was instantly by my side like a shadow, and I spent much of my Thanksgiving break over which I got him with him up in my lap or close on my heels. 

And Scamp seemed quite bemused.  He entertained himself by harassing the dog and by cuddling with him.

Harassing

Harassing/cuddling

Cuddling

And so, Scamp has returned to enjoy the indoor-apartment-cat life, complete with a 3.5 legged canine friend, and the menagerie continues to grow.

Creepy Cat Lady Status is Definite

I was perusing my laptop's photobooth photos, and came to the startling conclusion that I am a creepy cat lady.  They are all of Scamp.    Here is tiny baby kitten Scamp the first day he came home.

Here he is looking like a Simba Lion when we were posing for Auntie Patti.

 Rylee had snuck up on the bed here, which Scamp objected to, but not enough to give up his coveted spot right in my way.  We never really worked out a steady truce.

Further evidence of his favorite place being where ever is most in the way, particularly on the keyboard.

Or in the sink.  

 Most of the other ones are me trying to capture how goddamn crazy he is laying on my face when I am trying to sleep.

 I like how both of our eyes are so sleepy.  And he is literally on my face.  Cat does not kid around.

I swear I'm not forcing it.  Sometimes I do.  But I'm not in any of these.  Dude just wants to snuggle.  Of course, it's consistently when I am trying to, you know, sleep.  But my schedule is obviously less important than Scamp's.  Because I am a cat lady. 

Still not a horse

 

But still endlessly entertaining. 

Scamp is having a hard time with winter--a little bit of cabin fever.  I throw him out in the snow sometimes to counter the incessant meowing in my face when I would rather be sleeping.  All day and night long he's looking for any entertainment, whether it be from the window that I am trying to work at or the pen I am trying to use.

  

All of these things become of utmost importance when they are trying to be put into use.

 

Very subtle.

Annoying?  Who, me??

These things all also have to be tested for edibility.  Folder?  Reconstruction essay?  At least now we can be sure.

And I wonder why I never get any work done.

This is not a horse...

But how can you resist?  Maybe I should change the blog title to making creepy-cat-lady dreams a reality?

Scamp has a fascination with the bathroom. (not "going to" the bathroom, just the actual physical space.  Don't be so gross.)  I think it starts with the water.  He really prefers running water to still.  If pressed, he will drink from a bowl, but he'd really rather not to have to deign to do so.  He'd rather lap from this faucet and then choke on the water and make me real nervous that he's either going to die or cough up something really nasty.  Anyway, I think he wanders in to check if there's currently a fountain for him, and then gets distracted and takes a nap.

Then he's all, "Bring me water now, you fool!"  No, he was actually yawning.  Freaky.

 Then he takes this party to the shower, obviously, to try to figure out where all those goshdarn drops are coming from.

 No, seriously.  Where are they coming from.

So cute.